


Bright

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, Jim’s visited in the hospital by his adoring ensign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ~

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This could've easily been a oneshot, but... I'm lazy and didn't want to write it all right now or wait to post, so I guess it isn't. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

All of his crew send him notes in the hospital. Every last one of them, from lieutenants to yeomen. Jim still hasn’t had time to learn all their names, but reading their digital cards helps. He has a PADD on the bedside table stuffed full of best wishes, and he moves it aside every time he gets flowers to put there. Most of it came while he was asleep, and now that he’s conscious, Bones says he won’t be down for that long. That’s a relief. 

Most of his crew come to visit him. All of the senior officers do. Scotty brings him a hefty supply of alcohol that Bones confiscates (most of), and Sulu brings him stories of how others are doing—other starships and other missions, the sort of gossip Spock wouldn’t provide. Uhura comes often and is mostly responsible for the flowers. Spock shows up every second day, always with specific reports and muffled looks that Jim can tell mask concern. He mostly just tells Spock he’s fine and pushes for hugs, if for nothing else than to see Spock squirm. 

The crewmember that shows up by far the most, however, is surprisingly Chekov. He comes by every day, always bringing something to eat, sneaking in whatever Jim asks for—whatever Bones won’t let him have. Chekov brings him data chips with music and, when Jim chances asking for it, even dirty magazines, though he blushes the whole time he hands them over. It’s adorable, and every day, Chekov asks at least once, “Can I bring you anyzhing, keptain?”

After a while, Jim’s got everything he could ask for, so he just laughs and says, “Just your smile.” Chekov blushes and beams at him, and it makes the days seem lighter.

Today he’s brought cinnamon buns and lattes, while Bones is off... doing whatever it is Bones does when he isn’t fretting over Jim. It’s sort of like having the parent gone, and now Jim can play with his friend. Chekov might not be as immature and naughty as Jim, but he makes up for it with youthful enthusiasm and unconditional devotion. He’d don a red shirt for Jim; he’d do anything. 

Sitting up in bed with the pillow at his back, the mattress folded up to accommodate him, Jim says, “Thanks again for taking over Scotty’s position. You did a remarkable job.” Then Jim takes another bite out of his cinnamon bun, still hot and fresh, obviously not from a food synthesizer.

Chekov’s cheeks turn pink, like they always do when Jim compliments him. “It was no trouble, keptain. ...Alzhough I am sorry I was not able to fix zhings faster as I know Scotty would hawe.” Then he returns to licking the cream off his bun, temporarily drawing Jim’s attention. 

It’s a thick, white cream, sticky and gluttonous. It clings to Chekov’s pink lips as he licks at it, small tongue running flat along the pastry top. A bit of it gets on his nose, and he goes cutely cross-eyed trying to lick it off. In the end he has to wipe it onto his finger, then suck that finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks up all the cream. 

Jim shakes himself out of the reverie when Chekov’s hazel eyes open again, looking innocently up at Jim. Jim coughs. “Ah, no one could be Scotty. But you did very well. You also saved us.” He’s thanked Chekov a million times, but it’s never enough, not when Chekov always reacts so wonderfully, flushing further and stuttering. 

“N-no, keptain! You sawed us all, it was most amazing!”

Jim shrugs, and he just has to smirk. “Well, I am pretty amazing.”

“Zhe best keptain in zhe whole fleet!” Chekov nods along; he genuinely believes it. Then he starts nibbling away at the pastry in his hands, occasionally having to stop to lick off the sticky cinnamon that inevitably gets on his skin. Jim watches longer than what’s appropriate, then stuffs the rest of his bun into his mouth. 

He mumbles around it, “To be fair, I have the best crew.” He pats the crumbs off his hands and finishes, “You guys are wonderful, visiting me in the hospital and bringing me things. You’re great.” He leans forward and reaches out—he can’t quite make it, but Chekov obediently leans forward, so Jim can pet his head, fingers running through the soft curls. Jim means it to be a friendly gesture, but it comes off more as a master petting his puppy; Chekov croons into the touch before looking away in clear embarrassment. 

Jim sits back in bed. Chekov’s finished with his bun and reaches for his latte, sitting on the empty chair beside him. Jim’s is sitting on his bedside table, next to a pot of white orchids. Chekov’s, of course, is loaded with cream, drizzled in chocolate. Perhaps that’s why he’s often so hyper on the bridge; he apparently lives on sugar.

For a moment, Jim just watches Chekov kiss away the cream, sucking it lightly up between his puckered lips and opening them wide to lick at it. It’s mesmerizing. Then he’s asking before he can stop himself, “You’d... bring me anything, right, Chekov...?”

Chekov stops devouring his cream to say, “Of course, keptain. Anyzhing.”

Jim nods. This might be easier if he could just pull the vodka out from under his bed and have them both down a few bottles. But Chekov somehow seems too young for that, and Jim’s got a conscience. And he likely doesn’t need that, if he knows anything about human feelings. He’s sure he’s read Chekov right. “And you’d _do_ anything for me?”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov says with total commitment.

Jim smirks, but doesn’t correct him. He’s thought of telling Chekov to call him ‘Jim,’ like Spock, Bones, and even Scotty often do, but then, he so likes the way ‘sir’ and ‘captain’ fall off Chekov’s lips. It’s oddly endearing. While Chekov waits for an answer, he starts sipping at his latte, the light liquid swirling up towards his mouth, latched over the side. 

Jim coughs again. He’s not sure quite how to say this. But really, he has to say it. Because it’s eating him up, and he’s got such a good chance. And his conscience actually isn’t as prevalent as it should be. 

He glances first at the door. Closed. He should probably tell Chekov to lock it. He probably shouldn’t do this at all. He says carefully and slowly, “There’s... well, there’s certain... _needs_ that aren’t being met here.” When Chekov looks confused, Jim adds, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very good hospital, and Bones is taking great care of me. It’s just... well, like I said, a man has needs. ...Let’s just say I appreciate you bringing me those magazines.” He reaches over to put his hand on Chekov’s knee, but finds it just a little too far away. Chekov helpfully shuffles his chair closer, so Jim can comfortably rest his hand on Chekov’s leg. 

Chekov’s blushing, and he nods. He puts his drink back down on the other chair. He doesn’t say anything else, so Jim has to continue, “Those were really helpful. But, you know, they’re just pictures and videos. If I had an actual _experience_... well, that’d be a lot better.”

“I... I am not sure what you’re asking, keptain...” Chekov does look a little confused, but mostly apprehensive and embarrassed. Jim squeezes Chekov’s leg and slides his hand slowly up Chekov’s thigh, carefully watching Chekov’s face. Chekov bites his lip cutely but doesn’t make even the slightest hint of protest. 

Jim looks directly into his eyes and makes it very clear, “You can say no at any time. Tell me to shut up and I will, and we’ll never speak of it again. I don’t want to force you into doing or saying anything you’re uncomfortable with.” He leaves a significant pause, wherein Chekov doesn’t exercise his right at refusal. When it’s clear he isn’t going to, Jim says gently, “...You’ve been really good to me, Pavel. Can I call you that?” Chekov bites his lower lip and nods, excitement flickering across his eyes. Jim wonders if Chekov knew that Jim even knew his full name. “Anyway, you’re here every day, and you do everything for me, and you’re always saying such nice things about me. It’s time for me to say some nice things about you. You’re a _very_ nice boy, Pavel. You’re a great officer, and I appreciate you, and I’m proud to have you on my crew. ...And on top of that, you’re very easy on the eyes. You know how cute you are, don’t you?”

Chekov shakes his head. He licks his lip and goes back to chewing them nervously. His leg is twitching slightly under Jim’s palm, as though it wants to shake with excitement. Jim squeezes again for good measure, and Chekov makes an adorable squeaking sound, lashes fluttering. Jim’s fingers stray up closer to his crotch, resting on his upper thigh. 

“You’re very cute,” Jim repeats. His voice gets deeper and huskier, and he purrs, “I’d love to see those pretty curls slick with sweat on my pillow, your young body spread out beneath me...” He flexes his fingers out to brush Chekov’s package, now fairly evident through his Starfleet-issue pants, and he opens his mouth to gasp. 

“K-keptain...”

Jim leans forward, getting closer. Chekov is subtly tilting towards him: all the signals Jim’s read up until now proving true. Jim hisses while he closes the distance, “I appreciate the sweets you bring me, but I’m hungry for something even sweeter right now, mainly my favourite little ensign...”

Chekov parts his lips to have a sharp intake of breath. That’s a mistake. Jim smashes their lips together, darting a hand out to grab the back of Chekov’s head, holding him in. Chekov gasps and moans a second later, while Jim shoves his tongue inside Chekov’s mouth, past his soft, moist lips, coated in melting sugar. Jim licks the cinnamon from the roof of his mouth and sucks on his tongue, tracing his teeth and daring Chekov to kiss back. It takes a few seconds for Chekov to rise to the challenge. 

Then they’re making out like horny teenagers, which Chekov might as well be, and Jim was not so long ago. Chekov puts a hand on the bed to steady himself, right next to Jim’s leg, and Jim grabs that delicate wrist, pulling it up to rest on his crotch. He presses Chekov’s hand down, rocking his hips up into it, and Chekov moans loudly into his mouth. Chekov’s _delicious._

Jim pulls back and kisses a messy trail to his ear, nipping at the shell and purring into it, “Do you want to pleasure your captain, Pavel?”

“Oh, _yes_ , keptain,” Chekov pleads without hesitation. “Yes, yes, _please_...”

“Good.” Jim kisses his cheek and orders, “Go lock the door.”

Chekov’s out of his seat so fast it almost knocks over, and he just barely misses the other chair with his latte on it. He bolts to the door and jabs his fingers at the console, no doubt only to find security guards in place against patients locking themselves in. He glances over at Jim, who raises an eyebrow. 

You don’t get on a starship at seventeen without being something of a genius, and now he has more than a year of practice. Jim knows he doesn’t have to say anything, and Chekov looks back at the console, licking his lips in concentration. Then his fingers fly across the screen, stabbing in numbers, and a second later, Jim hears the door jolt. Chekov turns around with a wide smile, and he practically skips back to the bed. He moves for the chair, but Jim waves him forward. It’s all just like he hoped. “Come onto the bed.”

Chekov lights up and instantly obeys, climbing onto it a bit awkwardly and crawling forward, careful around Jim’s body. He looks ashamed, but he’s also so _eager_. When he reaches Jim’s lap, he sits up, hesitating. 

Jim grabs Chekov’s hips and jerks him forward, right onto his lap, legs to either side of his. Then he wraps his arms around Chekov’s thin waist, unable to believe his luck. Chekov fits perfectly in Jim’s arms, just like he belongs. He’s such a comforting force in such a dreary building, such a light in Jim’s life. Jim thinks of walking onto the bridge of his ship again and having Chekov delightedly call, ‘keptain on the bridge!’ and it makes his blood surge. He wants out of this bed. 

He wants back on his ship, looking down at the back of Chekov’s cute head, flying his ship. Then he wants to drag Chekov off to his quarters and christen them properly. He hasn’t had much time with the Enterprise, but what he did have seems like a waste, now that he knows he could’ve had this with it. 

For now, he just has to enjoy it. Chekov seems to be waiting for him again, so Jim pecks him on the lips, rubbing around his waist and deciding aloud, “Now... what should I do with you...?”

“Any... anyzhing you want, keptain.” Chekov shivers, adjusting in Jim’s lap. It inadvertently grinds his crotch into Jim’s, and Jim bites back a moan. 

Chekov’s already breathing heavily, and Jim surges up to kiss him.


	2. ~

It shouldn’t be okay. Not so fast. They don’t even know each other that well, other than perfectly, because they’ve almost died together so many times, and anyone on Jim’s ship is his family. But they haven’t even dated. That’s not always the case for him, but Chekov’s sweet, he’s probably used to better. Jim mutters as he kisses the side of Chekov’s face, in between kiss after kiss, “When I get out of here, I’ll take you to dinner. Somewhere nice. We’ll lie in a field afterwards and watch the stars. Or whatever you want. I’ll drive.”

Chekov moans and whines beautifully, “I lowe zhe stars; it is why I’m on a starship. And I lowe fast cars. Do you drive fast?”

Jim laughs, because there aren’t even words for that. So he just asks, “What do you think?” And he kisses Chekov’s knowing smile. 

It’s still too fast. It’s the first time. He’s just gotten his tongue in Chekov’s mouth, he doesn’t deserve to have other things in Chekov’s body. But he can’t seem to communicate that to his hands, which are roaming down Chekov’s slender sides, squeezing at his pert, round ass. Chekov moans loudly into Jim’s mouth, and Jim mumbles, “I’m sorry, can’t help it... really want you...”

“You can hawe me,” Chekov insists, sounding honoured. He loves Jim too much. Looks up to him too much. Is just too easy. Jim’s weak. 

“No, I... fuck, Pavel, I wanna fuck you...” So, _so_ bad, already. He kneads Chekov’s ass while he waits for an answer, playing with it and wishing there wasn’t fabric in the way. He rubs both cheeks and wonders what it’d be like to slide inside them. It’s been so long. By Kirk standards, anyway. Or it feels like it has. First all the misery with being demoted, then taking off, then the chaos, then being unconscious, then being bedridden. He needs _something_. He should’ve had this all along, this eager bundle of light, there for him and beautiful, spouting answers when he needs it, bringing sweets when he wants it. It’s so clear that there isn’t anyone better. 

“I...” Chekov mumbles, pausing to lick his kiss-swollen lips. “I want you... want you to f... fuck me, keptain...”

“Are you sure?” Fuck, _yes_. Damn Jim and his conscience for checking. “This is fast, are you sure you won’t regret it?” Because Jim never regrets sex, and Chekov’s cute as hell. Even if he doesn’t stay like Jim wants him to, come to his quarters on the ship like Jim wants him to, he’ll still be an excellent trophy. If Chekov ever has any boyfriends after this, Jim wants to be able to glare at them and say, ‘he was mine first.’

Chekov is chewing his bottom lip again. Looking nervous. His hands are on Jim’s stomach, loosely fisted in his hospital gown, and Jim lies back to give him space, still holding his ass, but waiting. Chekov takes a minute to sigh, “Keptain, I... I hawe always... well, you are... you are wery handsome...” He’s looking down, and he gulps. “I newer zhought zhat I would hawe any chance, but I did of course ah... is ‘daydream’ zhe word? But... but you are zhe keptain, eweryone does that... But I mean, I had hoped zhat maybe...”

That’s enough of that. Jim’s pretty sure that not all of his crew are hoping he’ll jump them, but right now, he only cares about the one member. So he lunges forward and kisses Chekov again, growling against his lips, “Then I’m going to fuck you right, and as soon as I’m out of this bed I’ll take you on a great date to make up for it, and then I’ll take you out again and earn me another night...”

“More?” Chekov repeats dazedly, sounding giddy. 

“More,” Jim growls fiercely. “If you’ll let me have more, I _want it._ ”

“I am yours, keptain,” Chekov repeats. Jim thinks of telling Chekov to use his given name, but then decides not to, because the way Chekov mispronounces his title is too alluring. It’s like a special pet name, and besides, he’s too busy feeling Chekov up and devouring his mouth to talk anymore. 

It’s a hospital. There’s probably something around that could be used for lube, but Jim wouldn’t even know where to start. And he doesn’t want to waste time looking. He’s so painfully hard, grinding up against Chekov’s ripe ass, divided by too many layers. 

Spit. That’s all he’s got. Gotta get Chekov naked, first. Is that too soon? He doesn’t have to, but he _wants_ to. He lifts his hands to start rolling up Chekov’s grey shirt, scrunching it up his chest, bunching it under his armpits, exposing pale, smooth skin. Jim ducks his head to lick one of Chekov’s nipples, rolling it around and pebbling it, while Chekov gasps and arches into him. He sucks it into his mouth, wanting to cover Chekov in cream and lick it all off. Maybe take shots off his chest. Fuck, he’d be great eye-candy at a bar. He’s too good to fuck in the washrooms, but he’d probably do it anyway. They could talk about warp core schematics and down alcohol and be foolish children with crazy high talents. The future makes him heady. All the _fun_ he could be having...

He gives the other nipple the same treatment. Chekov’s thin fingers brush through Jim’s hair, tugging a little and holding him in, muttering, “Yes, oh, da, da, daaa...”

The pants have to go. He thumbs Chekov’s belt and looks up at Chekov warningly, asking permission with his eyes. Chekov’s a smart boy. He gets it. He nods, chewing his lip and look entirely too delectable. Jim holds his breath, holding Chekov’s gaze, and starts to shuffle down the fabric. Just enough to expose Chekov’s ass. Chekov lifts up to accommodate, and Jim tugs it down his thighs. Then he runs his hands all over Chekov’s bare cheeks, groaning loudly and try to hump him, even though he’s now lifted too high for contact. His cock is still half-hidden in his pants, but the half-view is tantalizing, and it’s easy to see that Chekov’s just as excited as Jim is. 

Chekov breaks his quiet demeanor to suddenly pull the blankets down around Jim’s waist, though the gown covers everything. Fuck it. Jim pulls the entire hospital gown right over his head. It’s easier to wear than to bother getting dressed every day when he knows he isn’t going anywhere. Right now, it’s easiest to rip off. Maybe he should wear them more often, and enable his laziness all around. 

He isn’t wearing boxers. He’s left completely naked, and Chekov’s grin practically splits his face. His eyes are crinkled with it, and he runs his hands excitedly over Jim’s stomach, up his chest, down his thighs. Jim pushes the blankets the rest of the way off, so his cock has room to spring out, large and hard. He knows he’s big and knows he looks good, and he isn’t at all ashamed. But a little afraid of scaring Chekov away. Chekov looks at it like he’s never seen anything better in his life. His expression is one of sheer bliss, and he moans, “Oh, _keptain_... you are _so_ good looking...”

“You’re not just using me for my looks, are you, Pavel?” Jim chuckles. 

Chekov goes beet red and shakes his head quickly, insisting, “Oh no, sir! You are also brilliant! A keptain at only twenty-fiwe, with so many accomplishments, and rescuing our crew with such ingenious, daring plans, and your record is—”

Jim cuts him off with another kiss before laughing, “It’s okay, I know I’m great.” Chekov smiles sheepishly, still petting Jim’s stomach. After a few seconds, he bites his lower lip, looking down through his lashes, pupils already dilated. His fingers trail hesitantly down to the blond tufts beneath Jim’s naval, and he pauses, looking up as though for permission.

Jim hisses, “Touch me,” and Chekov happily obeys. His delicate fingers wrap softly around Jim’s cock, the other hand trailing down to cup his balls, fondling him and stroking him. Jim throws his head back and enjoys it, but wills himself not to thrust into it too hard—he doesn’t want to buck Chekov off.

He puts his hand up to Chekov’s mouth, groaning, “Get ‘em wet.” Chekov parts his lips, and Jim shoves three of his fingers in, letting Chekov lap away at them. Chekov sucks and blows them, still working Jim’s cock and balls, licking between his fingers and getting them as wet as possible. After a minute, Jim pulls back and spits in his palm, reaching behind Chekov to rub down his crack. Chekov makes a keening noise and presses back into Jim, wanton and needy. 

Jim’s determined to be careful about this. He’d love to just grab Chekov and throws him to the ground, pound him into the floor and ravage him like an animal. But Bones would kill him for that, and Chekov deserves better. So Jim finds his hole and circles the tight entrance, rubbing at the puckered muscles and wishing he could see it. He will, next time. Right now, he’s too hard to bother with different positions. He just wants his cock in Chekov’s ass as fast as possible, and he seals their lips back together when he knows he’s going to go in. It’s a distraction. He pushes his tongue into Chekov’s mouth and his finger into Chekov’s hole at the same time. Chekov gasps against him; Jim swallows it. 

He parts their lips only far enough to whisper, “I’ll stop any time you tell me to.”

He leans forward again, but Chekov pulls back, insisting breathlessly, “Don’t stop. Please, please, don’t stop.” Then they’re kissing again, and Jim’s finger is pistoning in and out, a bit deeper and a bit deeper, letting Chekov’s walls suck him in. Chekov’s almost unbearably tight, and it’s just one finger. It’ll feel so good around his cock, he’s sure. Probably the tightest ass he’s ever had. He waits until he’s knuckle-deep to add a second finger, scissoring Chekov apart gently. 

Between kisses: “Are you a virgin?” Because this is the wrong time to ask, but he wants to know—a first time should be better than sitting up in a hospital, desperate and so soon. 

But Chekov shakes his head, cheeks a dark pink. “Just... just once.”

Jim smirks. Another kiss. Pause. “Whoever he was, I’ll be better.” Kiss. 

Chekov smiles. “I know.”

Jim’s about the farthest thing from a virgin possible. He’s had men, women, humans, aliens, and even once a gelatinous species. He’s excited for right now, all the same. Maybe this one will be it. The time that’ll stick. Something he can get something more out of, take over and over again without getting bored. He pulls his fingers out when he thinks Chekov’s ready, and Chekov gasps. 

Jim spits in his palm and pats Chekov’s hands aside, lathering up his cock as best he can. He mumbles, “This might hurt...”

“Okay.”

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

“I won’t.”

Smirking, Jim says, “Stop being cheeky,” and kisses Chekov’s grinning chin. 

Chekov doesn’t seem to know quite what to do, so Jim’s happy to lead. He grabs onto Chekov’s hips, pulling him up a little, positioning him over Jim’s lap. Chekov puts his hands on Jim’s shoulder and sits in place, while Jim reaches underneath to spread his hole, cock lining up. When his tip is nudged against Chekov’s entrance, He takes a minute to breathe, looking up at Chekov’s face just to make double, triple sure that this is okay. 

Chekov’s cheeks are flushed. His lips are parted, breathing heavy. Pupils dilated, eyes-half-lidded, curls slightly damp against his forehead, his expression is calm and anxious and beautiful and full of hope, all at once. Jim locks onto his gaze and holds it, waiting. 

Confusion flickers over Chekov’s face, and then comprehension dawns, and he says, “Ready, keptain.”

Jim pulls him down by the lower back. The tip pops inside, and Chekov gasps, and Jim’s hips eagerly press up, arm pulling Chekov down. It’s already amazing. The heat, the suction, the squeeze around his cock, everything makes Jim foggy-headed and numb with pleasure. He pulls Chekov down bit by bit, luxuriating in his cock slowly being enveloped by Chekov’s warm walls, pulsing all around him. He forces himself to look at Chekov’s face, and halfway in, Chekov winces. Jim stops pulling him down immediately. Chekov whimpers erotically, “Nyet... don’t stop...”

“Ask me to go further,” Jim growls on a whim, just to hear more of that sexy voice. 

Chekov whines, “Keptain, _please_...”

“Jim,” he interrupts, because ‘keptain’ is so sexy, but they’re intimate now, and Chekov deserves it. 

“ _Jim,_ ” Chekov moans, drawing out the ‘m.’ “Jim, please... please fuck me...”

Throwing his head back to groan, Jim pulls Chekov lower, lower. His hands slide to Chekov’s slender waist, running up and down it, probably leaving finger marks. He can’t help it. He doesn’t stop until Chekov’s resting fully on top of him, completely impaled. It’s... sheer bliss. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” Jim grunts, and he means it. Best. Ass. Ever. 

“You are so big, keptain,” Chekov purrs, leaning forward over Jim, back to that word. He’s clutching hard at Jim’s shoulders, and then he begs, “Shall I mowe, sir? I want to ride it...”

Jim rolls his hips up into Chekov, who moans. He hisses, “Ride my cock, Ensign...” Because apparently, they’re talking dirty like that. He thought Chekov would like the rank thing, the power play, and clearly, he was right in spades. Chekov grins appreciatively and starts rocking his hips back and forth, worming around on it, writhing and twisting. Jim growls in bliss, and his fingers tighten in Chekov’s skin, wanting to leave bruises that say, _‘mine.’_

Somehow, it gets even better. Chekov sits up, not enough for Jim’s cock to slip out, but at least three quarters of the way. Then he falls back down, gasping as Jim’s cock shoots right back up inside him. Jim hisses, “Fuck yeah...”

“Keptain,” Chekov mumbles, leaning into him and nuzzling into his hair. “Keptain, keptain, keptain...” Over and over again, a steady, sensual mantra. He lifts up and slams down, then does it again, until he’s bouncing frantically in Jim’s lap, up and down, shrieking on every hit and filling the air with wet slapping sounds. Jim holds onto his waist, not letting him leave. His little pink cock is bouncing against his stomach, and Jim reaches down to grab it, earning a scream the second he does. “J-Jim...” He whimpers so _gorgeously_...

Chekov’s young and excitable. Jim’s young too, but he’s more experienced, and he has more stamina. Chekov comes undone too soon, stiffening in Jim’s hand and tensing against him, arms tight around Jim’s shoulders. He screams into Jim’s ear, and he thrusts forward into Jim’s hand, grinding down on Jim’s cock, until he explodes, splashing white jets between them. Jim keeps pumping him, milking it all out, while Chekov writhes and takes it. 

A second after Chekov’s finished, cock still a little hard and lips still open and wet with his noises, Jim grabs a hold of him. Picks him up, slams him down, again and again, like they never stopped, until he’s hot on Chekov’s heels, roaring into Chekov’s ear, “ _Pavel!_ ” And he fills Chekov up, holding him down to take it all, locking them together. 

Then he takes a minute, panting, leaning against Chekov’s small frame. Then it’s too much, and he falls back into the pillows, taking Chekov with him. 

Chekov’s struggling to breathe, and Jim’s cock is still fully sheathed in him. Jim maneuvers him down for a kiss. Lazy and post-orgasmic. They’re still touching tongues when an obnoxious bang pounds on the door, and Bones’ voice roars, “Damnit man, open this door!”

Chekov stiffens instantly, sitting bolt upright, gasping when it makes Jim move inside him. Jim grunts, “Shit.” He helps Chekov sit up. He quickly tucks Chekov back into his pants, doing them up and smoothing down his shirt, covering up the cum stains. Chekov leans over the bed and picks Jim’s hospital gown off the floor, helping him shuffle it back on. 

“Jim! Don’t make me kick this thing down!”

Chekov’s about to slip off him when Jim grabs his wrist, pulling him back for a last kiss, warm and special. Chekov’s cheeks are red again as he finally climbs down, and he gathers up their lattes and the bag from the cinnamon buns, quickly hiding them in the trash. As Chekov smoothes out his hair and heads for the door, Jim calls, “See you tomorrow.”

Chekov’s hand is on the locked console when he turns to ask, “...Is zhere anyzhing I can bring you, keptain?”

Jim chuckles, “Just your smile.”


	3. ~

The very next day, Jim’s released, mainly because a very angry Bones is ‘tired of dealing with him.’ Jim gives his friend a tight hug and a pat on the back, saying anyway, “Thanks.”

Bones returns it, and even though he grumbles, the care is all over his eyes. Jim’s just left the reception area, halfway down the quiet hall, when he spots a certain Russian rounding the corner. He glances over his shoulder to check that Bones is gone, and then he sprints to the end, right in front of Chekov before Chekov even has time to look up. 

Chekov stumbles back, and Jim reaches out to catch the bag he’s carrying, a hand on Chekov’s hip to steady him. “Keptain,” Chekov says quietly, a mix of excitement and sadness on his face. “I... you... you are better?”

“Clean bill of health,” Jim answers, tilting his head and passing the bag back. There’s definitely something off in Chekov’s expression, and his cheeks colour under the scrutiny. 

“So you... you will be going back to your home?”

“Yeah.” Then it occurs to him to say, “Oh, sorry, I was gonna comm you, but I just got released like... ten minutes ago, if that. I still have to tell everyone.”

Chekov shakes his head quickly. “No, no, no! It is fine! I was just wondering, zhat is all, obwiously you don’t owe me any explanation...”

“Yeah, I do.” But Jim leaves it there. A little old couple steps out behind Chekov, hobbling down the end of the corridor together. It reminds Jim to move, and he nods the way they came, turning Chekov around. He’s holding Chekov by the waist, and he draws Chekov outside, turning away from the steps. Bones brought him a ground uniform, the same grey Chekov was wearing yesterday. Except today Chekov must not have been on duty, because he’s in tight black pants and a white sweater, which clings to him in all the right places. He looks stunning in the sunlight. Jim leads him around the hospital to the terrace, looking out over the green fields in the back, raised and sectioned off with a waist-high glass fence. It’s quiet, except for a few birds. There are a couple of people milling about the lawn below. Jim walks up to the fence and leans against it. After so long in bed, it feels odd to stand.

Chekov stands tentatively next to him, fingers curled over the railing, bag at his feet. Jim’s had enough experience to know when something isn’t quite right, and it bothers him to know that that’s happening already. He’s only been back in the real world for a few seconds, and problems are occurring. Spock would say it’s a natural part of life, but Jim would prefer his optimism. He nudges Chekov gently, mumbling, “Hey, what’s bothering you?”

“Nozhing,” Chekov says, obviously lying. He doesn’t look at Jim, just stares blankly out across the field. Because Jim knows Chekov, and he knows that Chekov is a bustling pool of ideas and theories and energy, he just waits. A minute later, Chekov turns properly, saying with his eyebrows knit together, “It’s just zhat... just zhat now you will go home... and don’t get me wrong, keptain! I am wery glad you are okay. It’s just zhat... zhat...”

“That you liked visiting me?” Jim asks through a large grin. Chekov nods sheepishly, blushing. “You can still visit me, you know. I’ll just be able to visit you too, is the only difference.”

Chekov glances over, a little surprised, a lot skeptical. “You would... you would be alright wizh zhat? You can get your own zhings now, and you... you are a keptain, you will be busy...”

“I always make time for people. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I kind of have a habit for copious amounts of personal time.” Jim raises his eyebrows. He knows everybody knows that. Then he frowns, because that might be what the problem is. 

Chekov watches him carefully. Jim wants to ask if he has regrets, but instead just waits. He seemed so into it yesterday, so into _Jim_ this whole time. Finally he mumbles, looking down at his feet, “I know zhat... I know zhat you are a wery popular man, and I... I was wery honoured and happy to hawe you yesterday, but I know zhat... zhat now zhat you are healzhy, and you hawe had me already zhat...”

“You think I’m done with you because I already fucked you?” Jim repeats bluntly, frowning so hard his face hurts. His chest hurts. He knows what he’s like. He knows what his reputation is. Normally, that doesn’t bother him. But to think that Chekov thinks so low of him that he would hurt Chekov like that... that’s not good. Chekov doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t deny it, either. Jim adds dully, “But... all that stuff I said to you yesterday, taking you out and appreciating you... didn’t you hear any of that?”

“I had not slept wizh you yet.” Chekov’s voice has a hint of self-loathing, as though he’s mad at himself for falling for a trap. Jim would be angry if he weren’t so busy being hurt. He’s never had to lie to get into anyone’s pants. He’s a smooth talker, yes, but he doesn’t need to make shit up. 

Jim takes a step closer. Chekov’s shoulders hunch defensively, and Jim grabs his chin, forcing it up. “Look. _Pavel._ ” Chekov’s eyes widen cutely. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t get around a lot or that I didn’t _really_ enjoy the sex, because I do and I did. But I never lie to do that. I meant everything I said. I know you’re young, and you’re entitled to change your mind if this isn’t what you want, but _I_ want you. Yes you’re beautiful, and you’ve got a great ass, but you’re also my navigator and the best damn one I could ask for, too. You saved my life when I almost fell into the center of a dying planet, you helped me defeat Nero, and you helped me defeat Khan. ...And on top of that, you’re always announcing me whenever I step on the bridge, and when I was down and bedridden, you were there for me every single day.”

Chekov mutters, looking ridiculously hopeful, “I did not zhink you noticed me much.” 

“You’re a child prodigy and you sit right in front of me, how am I supposed to not notice you?”

Chekov finally smiles. Looks down, looks up, biting his lip, taking a breath. He looks like he might cry. “I am so stupid. I am sorry, keptain.”

“You’re a genius,” Jim laughs. Then he concedes, “Well, apparently not socially, but that’s alright. I excel enough there for the both of us.” Chekov laughs with him, and then he suddenly lunges at Jim, hugging him tight. Caught by surprise, Jim holds Chekov back, less stiff and all warm. There’s a slight breeze in the air. 

Then Chekov pulls away, blushing and muttering, “Sorry, sorry. I just... I am wery happy for any part of you I can hawe... Jim.”

Jim grins at the use of his name, and that makes Chekov light up, like he wasn’t fully sure he could use it. Jim puts a hand on his shoulder and double-checks, “So... we’re good?”

“Da.” Chekov nods.

Smiling broadly, Jim reaches around him to pick the bag off the floor, testing the weight—more sweets. He throws his other arm around Chekov’s shoulders, sweeping him up and leading him off the patio. It’s a bright, sunny day, with almost no clouds. He has to get home and let everyone know he’s alright—it’s Spock’s day to show up and fill him in. As they walk around the side of the building, nearing the stairs at the front, Jim asks, “Do you want to come home with me? I have to clean up a bit and call some people, but then we can go out to dinner in a bit. What do you say?”

“I would lowe to.”

“You don’t have anywhere to go? You don’t have a curfew, do you?”

Laughing, Chekov lightly shoves his side, and Jim pulls him in to kiss his temple.

“Let’s go pick up my fast car.”


End file.
